


Prison Break

by woke_up_on_derse



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kravitz breaks Magnus out of Hell and its sick, Rating Did Change Actually, characters may be added, outline is there for next chapters but I wanna leave room for fun change, the feel good necromancy fic we all need
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woke_up_on_derse/pseuds/woke_up_on_derse
Summary: "Your friends fade out of sight, still bickering with Not Magnus, and you turn around to see an all-encompassing rift that you had only gotten glimpses of before back in Lucas's lab. The Astral Plane opens up to you and you submit.It's not.... quite what it looked like back at Lucas's lab, though. Not at all."----****----In which Taako and Merle fail their perception rolls and the Magic Jar/Arms Outstretched sequence doesn't happen. Involves Kravitz breaking rules, Magnus wrecking havoc, and both of them becoming Good Friends.





	1. In Which Kravitz Isn't Just a Reaper, He's a "Cool Reaper"

Your friends were never very good at their perception rolls. Which, you suppose, is why you're getting a nice aerial shot of Not Magnus trying to swindle Merle and Taako into leaving sans Animus Bell. But, if that's not you, then where are you? 

Your world narrows to just the scene before you, slowing creeping into monochrome as you drift away. Your friends fade out of sight, still bickering with Not Magnus, and you turn around to see an all-encompassing rift that you had only gotten glimpses of before back in Lucas's lab. The Astral Plane opens up to you and you submit. 

It's not.... quite what it looked like back at Lucas's lab, though. Not at all. The waves that were once tranquil are now choppy and thick with oil. Despite this, the air has a menacing stillness. Had the reaper lied to you when he showed you a more pleasant vision of Hell, had tried to get you to come quietly? No. Something deep within you tells you this is not right. It's as though the plane itself is sick. You've seen it before, but you don't recall where. As you well and truly pass over, so to speak, the choppy oil slick waves comes into focus and you find something far more distressing. It's less liquid and more dripping tendrils. 

The inky black tendrils would seem to be cut-outs from reality itself, a lack of anything at all, if it weren't for the striking ribbons stretched taut around their dearth, as though they too are being pulled into the Nothingness. They ping a chord of familiarity and, as soon as you recognize that you recognize them, your brain helpfully provides the name "The Hunger". You stumble back, these things are to be feared and desperately avoided. You must have blinked too fast there because, for just a moment, you swear you saw a million white eyes projecting their disapproval. 

As you struggle to find the eyes again, you are alerted to another struggle; a hand breaks free of the Hunger and gropes around for purchase. Visibly human. As is your signature move, you think absolutely nothing before rushing in. Pure instinct takes over as you pull a whole person out of the tendrils and heave them onto (dry?) land. The figure is bent over hacking out their lungs, inky bits of Hunger being laboriously pushed out, and you try to get a twice-over of them. 

They're familiar, but not too familiar, but not too _not_ familiar. Their face is obscured by shadow and their body by the oily residue of the Hunger still sloughing off as they heave, and the rest of them doesn't quite ring a bell. Like someone seen in passing. Maybe a face from a crowd? A person from the stands in Goldcliffe? A victim burned into your mind from Phandalin? As the figure gets to their shaky feet you see their face for the first time and boy howdy that /does/ ring a bell. But the skew of the face is all wrong. Like the first time you saw Steven cry and you honestly didn't recognize him, similar is how distress and uncertainty obfuscates his features. 

"Magnus Burnsides!" says a poorly manufactured Cockney accent, "What's a rule-breaker like you doin' 'ere?"

Oh. 

OH. 

"First of all, I am under contract to tell you to go fuck yourself for stealing Merle's arm-"

"That was entirely my fault, I know."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry. Your turn. And?"

"And what?"

"You said 'firstly' which implies a 'secondly'" 

"Oh, yeah. Secondly, I think... I may be dead?"

"And you came here right away?"

"Um... yes..?"

Another slew of emotions that don't belong on such an imposing figure crosses his face, wild bafflement and genuine gratitude. This is interrupted, however, by the Hunger grabbing his leg. With what looks like annoyance, he retrieves his scythe from thin air and splits the tendril off as though it were mild inconvenience. 

"Let me first express my delight in seeing you taking responsibility for your reckless use of your mortality, but can we take this inside? Checking you in may be a process given your previous complications." 

You are... more than a little antsy to be anywhere but here, so it's not a surprise when you find yourself scrambling up the steps to a building that would look all together too much in any place that wasn't Hell. A single knock from a Grim Reaper is all it takes for the heavy steel gates to swing open as though they'd been burned. 

Immediately, Kravitz (it was Kravitz, right?) is all business. He fishes out his book and peers at you over it, saying "This... doesn't look good for you. I've waived your bounty by way of promising not to hunt you, but I don't know if I can justify any arrangement short of high-security given your... very fervent refusal to follow me the first time-" A loud thump resonates from the doors as the Hunger no doubt tries to gain entrance. 

"But I came so willingly this time!" you plead with increased worry over the hollow thuds resonating from the gate, "and without you even coming to get me!"

"That's... that's true. Listen, Magnus, I am completely on your side here but I may be fresh out of strings to pull with-" his nonchalant tapping of his pen to his lower lip is cut short as even he is startled by a louder thump. "- strings to pull with the Raven Queen."

"Okay, but you listen now. High security sounds great right about now and let me tell you- this place isn't it."

"Not secure?" He frowns, "this is our new home. Well, _your_ new home, I was just trying to emphasize that this is also _my_ home in an attempt to comfort you-" another thump "But what can that do to hurt you? Double kill you? Magnus, don't be silly."

"How does being erased from the very reality that binds you sound?"

"What do you-? Is that a threat?"

Another thud sounds out, but this time, it's accompanied by a splintering sound. "Not a threat from me, but I would definitely consider them a threat, yes."

There's about four solid seconds of silence weighing heavy. It's... a pretty loud silence, actually; a silence amplified by the stone. It feels almost as though you two are the only ones here but that doesn't quite make sense. Isn't Kravitz a busy man? That would imply a lot of rowdy prisoners. You both open your mouths at the same time. 

"Where are all the-" you start. 

"I'll just be a min-" he interrupts himself. "You- you go first. I'm sorry."

"Where are the other souls?"

"You know what?" he looks around as though just noticing the absence of the screams of the damned, "I don't know. I usually just ignore them at this point. Background noise, you know? Nothing to be done for them while they do their sentences. A prison break wouldn't be possible right now, or really ever. Never happened before. I should probably check-" Another thud, another crack. This time it worries him, seems to scare the accent right out of him. "But, as I was going to say, I'll just be a minute as I believe you may be right and this may be urgent." 

Kravitz turns to the door and conjures a pillar of stone to stand in front of the steel. Is that related to the crystal golem thing he did in Lucas's lab? You want to ask but he's already walking past you. 

"That should keep them for a few minutes. Let's go upstairs. Those are the nicer cells anyway, and the friends of my.... friend are friends of mine." 

"That was one of the most cryptic things I've heard all day, and I've had a very long day."

"Tell me about it. Get prepared for eternal dusk here because there is no sunrise or set. Also," he gives you a sincere look of sympathy, "me too, bud." 

You take the stairs two at a time and, when you are nearly at the top, you hear the horrible rending of steel as it snaps clean. Kravitz quickly sets up another barrier, wrought-iron this time, and continues on business as usual. 

"Hey, what happens when that gives way? You can't just keep losing ground. You're a busy guy and what happens to me when you leave?" 

"Yet again, Magnus. Those things can't kill you."

"You seem scared of them."

"Property damage." 

"Bullshit. Stop lying. Also, you haven't answered me yet on the other prisoners. AND you haven't elaborated on who our mutual 'friend' is." You're getting kind of tired, but in a way that feels like you could go all day and probably will have to. 

"First of all, not lying. I get the piss taken out of me many, many times a day. Physical harm doesn't suck that much anymore and I honestly think YOU'RE the liar about the whole 'removed from reality' thing. Secondly, don't tell me how to do my job. I've been doing it for, like, literally _forever_ and I'll get to that after I get you in. Thirdly, .... he hasn't told you?" He sounds sincerely hurt. 

"Who is 'he'?"

"Well, he probably has a good reason why he's kept me a secret. It's his secret to tell, I guess. But he calls me a lot so I just assumed-" 

"You're dating Taako?!" 

"How the fuck-" 

"So I get a cushy room because my bestie is giving you ass?" 

"How did you- I can't believe-, I- _you_!" he stutters out like a broken record. 

A thunderous crumbling sound sinks your heart into your stomach. Kravitz composes himself and swings around the corner of the staircase to cast three more spells you can't see. 

"You call him a lot though? Can I use your stone?" 

"Uh, I mean, I'll call him _first_ then pass it off to you _after_." he says as he pulls his Stone of Farspeech out from under his dresshirt. 

"Scared he'll answer with a 'hey, Daddy'?"

He gives out a surprised and indignant squeal before squeezing out a, "Wrong and also too far!" before calling him up anyway. He holds it close to his ear and promptly squeals again, then drops it as the stone gives out a signature Taako Wail. 

You pick it up and yell into it, "Taako! Taako it's your bro Maggie. Talk to me!"

"Come here _right now_ and save my ass!" a grainy but unmistakable Taako voice calls out. "Merle is down and the liches are _cheating_ with their heals!" 

"Okay, I'm sorry but I'm in Hell." 

His voice drops a little, a touch off from his previous hysteria, "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine but I'm dead." you shift the stone to your other ear and shuffle your feet. "Sorry 'bout that." 

Another wall crumbles as the Hunger pushes onward through the building. Kravitz looks a touch uncomfortable now and plucks the stone from you. "Do you need any assistance? Magnus can't come but I can." You wiggle your eyebrows at his statement and he trades you a scowl. 

"I would love that, hon. Please hurry." There's a sound through the stone of a not-so-distant explosion as Kravitz cuts a crescent through the air with his scythe. No cigar. He does it again and again, increasingly frantic before dropping to his knees and pulling what looks like a fistful of feathers out from his coat. He lays them in a five-pointed pattern and looks up expectantly. Also no cigar but you're not certain what yes cigar would look like. He stands to his feet, turns off his stone, conjures a steel wall directly behind you, and levels you a deadly serious gaze. 

"You want out, Mr. Burnsides?"

You nod firmly, unable to speak under such solid eye contact. 

"Then let's boogie."


	2. Necromancy Fic: Now With 100% More Necromancy

Kravitz takes you by the hand, you're guessing to lead you somewhere, but you're too taken aback by how soft and warm he is. That just doesn't seem right. He looks so bony, his smooth dark skin stretched over wide bones that make you think of a frog's webbed feet for a minute, which isn't nice so you don't tell him. Maybe he's so bony to you because you've seen his skeleton? The man isn't emaciated; sure, his facial bones are striking and prominent, but they play to the tune of "handsome" long before "underfed" and he has a healthy, otherworldly glow about him that has him looking about as lively as a corpse can. He is a corpse, right?

"Hey, Krav? You got any blood?" you ask in what The Director taught you was a "polite tone" you should use when asking sensitive questions. 

"That's a.... weird question. Yes?" he shoots behind him as he strings you along past rows of empty cells. Hmmm. He didn't seem to like your tone. You'll try harder. 

"May I ask whom gave you your blood? I presume you are..." Oh shit. Is "corpse" a rude word? It probably would be, you wouldn't want to be reminded that you live in a husk, "a dead flesh boy-" Fuck, wrong. "Man! Dead flesh man. Sorry."

He stops and swivels around to face you, but keeps holding your hand, which is unfortunate. "Are you mocking me? I dropped the accent already." His eyes flick to the side as though he's trying to remember some archaic secret from long ago, "And, I suppose The Raven Queen gave me my blood? I don't remember a whole lot from that far back."

You would squirm your hand free if that wouldn't be even more rude. "I'm sorry. Sorry about both things. The mocking you, though I didn't mean to! And also the memory thing. That's.... gotta suck. I don't remember a whole lot from my past as part of IPRE either." Wait. What? IPRE? What does that even stand for? 

A torrent of memories threaten to bowl you over. Suddenly, your world shifts yet again today and you're laying face-down in a field of thick grass with the sun warming your back. Except it isn't grass, it's short fur growing on almost every natural surface of this planet, and it isn't a sun but instead three bright moons casting three shadows of various shades on each of the figures rushing towards you. It's a young Lucretia, because _of course_ she is, she's only 34, looking pleased to bear good news and trailing a bit behind Davenport. Wait, Davenport? Of course. You heave yourself up the rest of the way, giving up this lazy comfort, to greet your captain. There's a squawk of indignation behind you as the braid Taako had been weaving in the longest part of your short hair comes loose halfway through his ministrations, except it's not Taako. It's Lup, duh. How could you forget Lup? At nine years in, you can definitely tell the difference between the two. Lup has black hair, half-shaved, and wears tight clothes while Taako has long bleached hair and flowing robes. They're pretty different, even just in visual, how could you mess that up? 

"Barry thinks he has the exact coordinates on the Light of Creation. I'd appreciate you two coming along, sooner rather than later preferably." Captainport instructs you. You know that's not a suggestion, and slowly bend back down to pick the flower crown Merle made for you off the ground as Lup lets out a victory holler and clambers aboard. You've been through this song and dance enough times to know you have plenty of time to capture the Light. 

Until you don't. 

The Hunger arrives before you do. How? There must have been some horrible miscalculation. It's havoc in the cockpit all seven of you have sequestered yourselves into, running numbers and shouting accusations. This kind of tension isn't good for the Starblaster's Friendship Reserves, and the ship nose-dives to give you a perfect view of a column of Hunger smashing through a rudimentary Town Hall where luminescent townsfolk lay prostrate to worship the Light. As Davenport recognizes the lost cause and thrusts the ship up as hard as he can on the strained auxiliary tank, you use the recent slanting of the ship to practically glide down to the launch bay. The Light is _right there_. What are you? Some kind of coward?

You open the hatches and rush in. You are falling, falling, falling.....

And you miss. 

"Magnus! Magnus are you alright?" A warm hand transfers from your oh-so-cold hand and grasps your forearm. It's Kravitz and he's staring at you with those omniscient brown eyes. 

"Kravitz, the Prime Material Plane is in more trouble than you would believe. We've gotta-" you meet his somber gaze and realize he's not fucking around either, "What can I do to help us get there?"

"I'm glad you asked, Magnus, because there's no way I could get you to do what I'm about to ask of you without you being pretty damn desperate." 

 

\-------********-------

 

"Mind giving me a lift?" says Kravitz. You're in a sort of library, which would normally be horribly out of place in a Hell Prison if it weren't for the fact that this place is defo cursed. For starters, all of the books are on necromancy. Kind of a strike one. They lay strewn across the single table nested in the corner of the room, seemingly not having been used for millennia. If you had to breathe, you would probably be wracked with coughing and doubled over because of the dust being kicked up in Kravitz's frantic search. The library is more of a collection of books, which, you suppose, is what all libraries are, but this one has only 150 books in here at maximum. And every single one of them is probably haunted. 

"Little help?" Kravitz calls out again. He's trying to reach a shelf just short of his armspan. 

"Sure thing, big boy." You strut over and pick him up by his middle, ducking your head in between his legs as you affix him onto your shoulders. Nice and secure. He squirms a bit, but you think it's just been a while since Death had a shoulder ride. You pity him a little. You're a big guy as well but at least you have Carey to give you piggy-back rides. 

Kravitz spends as little time as possible gathering as many books as he can fit into his arms, seeming to not want too many repeat trips, before having a second thought and just brushing them all onto the floor with a swipe of his arm. He sways a little up top as you avoid the totally haunted tomes crashing around you. 

"Now, I've been in this business for a while, so I know what I'm looking for, it's just that I usually appear _after_ whatever necromancy that occurs has succeeded." he keeps you updated as he skims the tomes. They all have busted spines and weathered papyrus pages that crackle like fire sparks when you actually try to smooth them out. You suppose these to be looted from snatched bounties given the torn edges, blood, and other signs of struggle. You aren't much of a book person, but you've always loved the smell of old books with few exceptions. There are about 150 exceptions in this room alone. They have only the slightest odor to them each, but all together they reek of marrow and vinegar and other preservatives. You guess it only makes sense to have so much anti-rot when doing necromancy, but you never really put two and two together until it's in your face like this. Or, rather, your nose. 

"Do you mind if I step out for a bit? Didn't know my senses would still work so..... well after dying." you ask. 

"I was actually hoping you could help? I'll draw the circle, and you can skim through these until you find something that looks like it? How's that? Like you said, I can only set up so many barriers and lose so much ground. Time is of the essence and I've already had to set up five more walls since we started this search. We're really painting ourselves into a corner here." 

You agree to leave the room only for as long as it takes for you to get the ichor that he needs to draw the circle. "Hey, is this the right stuff? It wasn't labeled so I just kinda guessed." you say as you reenter the room holding up a clear plastic container that may or may not be a repurposed Fantasy Elmer's Glue bottle with something radiant inside. 

"Yes, yes, that's exactly it. And, good news!" He holds up a book written in a language that may very well predate Common. It has a circle with a bunch of straight lines in a clear pattern, and some wiggly ones that are not so clear at all. You hand him the ichor and he promptly starts drawing right on the stone floor. Even, clean swoops and high arches appear out from under a hand with little practice but excellent, steady form as he rattles off a list of things you will need to bring him. 

The storage closet is more of a kitchen, actually, linoleum floors and a granite island, but with absolutely nothing bordering on edible within. You take just enough time shuffling through nondescript bottles of ammonia and the like to read labels before stuffing them into your rucksack. Some objects are easily located, like blood, which is everywhere, and specific nibs of flesh that you don't have a hard time identifying, so you gather them up first. Then you get to the point of finding the correct molar concentration of aqueous Mercury. It's calling for a molarity of 6 but you only have 7 and it's really stressing you out. You could probably dilute it but you are a man of action and not of science. You resolve to do the right thing and ask your buddy to do it. Hoisting your sack over your shoulder, it's far too heavy to wear on your hip now, you trudge back to the Stink Zone. You may have changed the trudging into scampering at some point after you hear the wet slapping of the Hunger throwing its whole weight onto a sturdy stone door, but there are no cameras to prove it and you sure as hell don't need to share that with anyone. 

He's standing inside the circle when you enter, seemingly waiting for the ichor to dry before stepping out, not daring to smudge its delicate form. 

"Toss it!" he calls out upon seeing you enter. You go to throw your rucksack before he finishes his thought hurriedly. "-Not all at once, no! Just the bits, thank you, Mr. Burnsides."

As you underhand toss him individual skin grafts that he sets into the Mercury solution he diluted, you both pretend determinedly that you don't hear the collapsing of several walls as the process goes on. He inlays tendon strands, you toss him marrow powder delicately like a parent teaching their toddler to play baseball, and you both ignore your imminent demises like champs. That is, until your finger count of how many doors you have left comes up as a big old goose egg. 

"Throw another one up! I think that may have been the last one." you yell over your shoulder as you barricade the door with the now-empty cherry wood bookshelves. 

"Are you sure? I think that may have been the last one I had in me. I've got to conserve enough spell slots to cast us off." he says as he takes off his tailored jacket. You watch with your back to the door as he drenches it in blood and scrunches it in his hands to make sure it's really in there. And, oh, that definitely was the last defense. You feel a sudden smack to the door that nearly sends you to your knees. 

"Is that the last step?" you call out in your desperation. 

"Not quite." He fishes out a lighter from his trouser pockets. "This is." he says as it's set alight. You never thought anything could send such strong waves of nausea through you when you don't even have a corporeal stomach anymore. The smells of burning human, plastic fibers, and wool fill your nose as the Hunger knocks again with renewed vigor. You hear a splintering sound and close your eyes. 

"Let's do it, then!" you shout out. You aren't met with any response at all. Distressing. You open your eyes now and see something equally upsetting. 

It's Kravitz, flaming jacket in hand, looking dumbstruck. "I-... Magnus I just realized I can't do this. This is not just against the Raven Queen's rules, but against my rules. I can't do this. It's not about obedience, it's about actually doing the right thing, even if she can't see me." 

"And what exactly is the right thing? I'm really interested right now." 

"I dunno, probably not necromancy, Magnus!" 

"I have to survive!" You shake your head. "You don't understand! I have something very important I _must_ do!" 

Suddenly, his whole demeanor changes. He squares his shoulders and levels you a scowl. "Oh really? Haven't heard that one before."

"It isn't just about me, Kravitz. It's about every mortal still alive. I don't care if you take me back down here immediately after this work is done. I will go quietly. Soldier's honor." You hold out your pinky and stretch it out towards him while still holding the door. He seems a little less stand-offish but not fully convinced. 

"Listen, you care about order, right? That's your whole Grim Reaper thing, _right_?"

"Yes and I can tell you necromancy goes against all of it. This is unethical. It's not just about me, though, it's about you.... You'll never forgive me." 

"I won't have the capacity for forgiveness when I'm fucking _erased_! Please, you have my full consent to do whatever you-" You don't have time to finish as The Hunger sends one final lash against the door and the oak rends. The Hunger floods into the room like so many ripples of a disturbed pond. The shelf falls. You fall. 

It hurts. 

It **_hurts_**. 

You stick one feeble hand out from one of the busted slots, reaching for Kravitz. The Hunger is constricting around your waist and smashing your lungs. As it lifts you up by your middle to no doubt smash you back down, you don't so much as hear him speak as you do see it. 

"I'm sorry." says Kravitz. 

And he strikes you. He strikes you with an illusory golden chain that pierces through your chest. And then he is gone. No puff of smoke, no incantation. He's just gone. There and now not. 

And now you aren't there either. 

 

\------*******------

 

You're laying face-up on some sparse grass that prickles your back. You can tell by the slant that you're quite literally lying in a trench by the side of a dirt road, most likely for travelers by foot given that there's still crabgrass growing on it. You ache absolutely everywhere. Your mouth tastes of blood. You can't move. Only look up at the darkening sky through the trees, which you hope means night is approaching and not the Hunger. Wait. 

How do you still remember the Hunger? 

It's only then that you realize two things: 1) Your new bro Kravitz is also lying beside you, trying to catch his breath and 2) You don't have your left arm. It seems like it was severed just below the elbow, which makes prosthetics easier, but it was also /severed/ and you're kind of in shock. Because it's a realizing things kind of day, you roll your head to your side and see hats and sequined fabrics and mannequins laying rent asunder so you put this scene together and slowly dawn on the realization that you are in the ruins of Wonderland with no way back to the Starblaster because someone, no guesses who, Stole. Your. Bracer. 

"Kravitz?"

He takes a moment to respond sheepishly. "Yeah?"

"What was the thing you said I would never forgive you for? I'm really hoping to cut my losses so I'd appreciate it if you told me _you_ were the one who stole my arm."

"Well, I do have the tendency to steal arms, huh? First Merle and now you?" A flood of relief washes over you at his jocular tone, but runs cold as he grows somber and continues, "But that's not it. I wish I could tell you that was it, but that's just the next problem for you to figure out. I'm so sorry."

"So sorry about what?! I wish you'd just tell me."

He rolls to his side so you can see his solemn look out of your peripheral. "I have you now. You're undead, and I have your soul, and it's mine."

A shocked pause. 

"I'm so sorry, Magnus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I was so excited for this chapter that I wrote this the day after I published chapter 1. I think this is a good sign for frequent updates? I'm gonna try to keep on an updating every Tuesday schedule. Also, thank you so much for the support for chapter 1! I was worried no one would read it because it's not a ship fic but y'all pulled through and I love it!


	3. Dungeons and Dragons: Now With 100% More Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solid colored dragons are chaotic evil by nature, while metallic dragons are lawful good. Not all DMs play by this rule, and honestly I still don't play by all the "official" dragon rules, but the colors thing is A Thing™ here. Also, hope y'all like seeing a little bit of a role reversal with Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky and an actual fucking Grim Reaper.

You can't really... blame him. Can you? You did give him "full consent" to do "whatever". This was..... this was necessary. Wasn't it? At least being dead prevents you from having to worry too much over that arm removal issue. It hurts, but that's what being a tank is, powering through. A second life is always a blessing, and it is what you asked for. To ask for more would have been greedy. Right? 

"Thank you," you grit out. It's a good thing Kravitz is shocked silent, because you need a second to catch your breath before continuing, "for getting me out of there. It could have been worse. You went against your morals-" you need to pause again, this time because the words hurt, "-for me." You don't like people having to do big things for you, things you can't repay. That's not what heroes do. 

"You're not-...? You are very welcome, Magnus, but aren't you mad? I stole your autonomy from you, something you will never get back even after you go through The Great Equalizer, without asking." He's giving you a look impossible to place, impressed, concerned, inquisitive, something else......?

"I am mad, but mostly about the missing bracer issue." This line isn't answering any of your questions, so you might as well start in order of most recent. "Why did you say 'the great equalizer' that way? Why not just say 'death'?" 

"Have you never heard the phrase 'death is the great equalizer'?" When you don't answer, he continues, "Well, you see, most people call me 'Death', but that's neither my name nor my title. My name is Mac Kravitz, though please don't call me Mac, it's weird at this point, and my official job is making sure all are equal in how many lives they get, how many hours in a day, how much time they get in this plane as according to their own care of themselves. If you value your life and nurture it, it will last longer. If you throw it away, I make sure you don't get another one. I don't kill people, just give important decisions permanence. Life is unfair, Death is just." 

You get the feeling that he's practiced that response over the millennia, but that doesn't change how convinced he seems of it's truth. "You don't kill people, huh? So no dragging kids to the Astral Plane? That's some comfort, I'm guessing." 

"Well, actually," his demeanor shifts to something approaching casual as he rubs the back of his neck, "there was one time when some six-year-old boy walked in on me taking his necromancer mother to the Astral Plane and it got kinda messy when I used the human sacrifice as a meat shield. Apparently, he didn't know his mom did that kind of stuff and promptly had a heart attack and died. Hell of a court case. I was on the kid's team because I, of course, felt bad for killing him."

"How'd it end?"

"The, uh, the Astral Court isn't very lenient. Mostly rules on _stare decisis_ with few exceptions. It.... didn't go well."

"Not very lenient, huh?" you say as you finally get to your feet, swaying a bit before grasping onto Kravitz for support, "I've asked a lot of you, haven't I?" 

He looks away as an answer. "And I've taken a lot from you in return to make it possible. It's not some selfless act I've done. It saved my hide, too." He turns back to you. "Fuck, you don't even realize how serious this is." 

"And _you_ don't realize how serious _this_ thing- this rainbow tentacle thing, I call it the Hunger, is. It would have destroyed my very essence, and then your's, and then this plane and all others after. We've gotta-" you look down at your missing left arm, missing bracer, "We've gotta get to the moon." 

"Okay, clarification time. Which moon? Just because you don't need to breathe anymore doesn't mean the moon won't completely balloon your corpse and double-kill you. I'm not reanimating you if that happens because you'll have deserved it." 

"No, no, even I'm not that dumb. It's the fake moon base, the Starblaster. Only issue is _someone_ stole my fucking _arm_ right off me." It's actually kind of ridiculous. You have many valuables still on your person and littered around you. An actual gift from an actual _Goddess_ wasn't pilfered, but someone felt the need to steal an arm. You have no idea what you're supposed to do with that information. 

"You know, there's a really easy way around that. Definitely even faster than taking one of those cannonball Ubers. I've been to the common lounge between your's and your teammate's dorms quite a few times. I can just kinda-" 

He's cut off, not by any sound, but by a force of presence. Something out there wants your acknowledgment. No, that's not quite right, it doesn't want or need anything from such inferior uses of carbon, it's merely alerting you two for your own better good. You aren't the magical powerhouse of your team, but you don't need an arcana check to tell that this thing is magic as those heavenly macarons you got on Candlenights. 

"Magnus, don't move. I'm going to open a rift, and then we are both bolting. Promise me you will run. Count of three, okay?" he whispers as he draws his scythe from some unseen sheath. 

"I can't promise you that." you whisper back, "Because I'm not gonna do it." 

"What?!" An audible increase in volume but still well under speaking tones. You have a feeling whatever is hiding in those trees can hear just fine regardless. 

"I'm not running. I'm an adventurer and this is a mystery worth solving. Trust me, bro. This is gonna be so good." 

"It's _not_ going to be good and you're going to _die_ and I'm not going to _help_ you." Three words thrust out like swords. He's not playful anymore at all. 

"Weren't you an adventurer before? Where's your fun?" 

"Gone. It left when I _died_ , alone and stupid for being an adventurer in the first place, for not taking care of my mortality, and learned to be a bit more careful. Take it from your elder, we need to book it." As if to reinforce his point, you hear a guttural rumbling from up high in the trees. Whatever it is, it's big. The canopies shake the hardest, so you imagine this thing is at least 30 feet tall. You see a flash of white scales and decide, _hey, maybe Kravitz is right._ The scales become less of a glimpse and more of a harsh reality as two taloned legs, heavy as felled tree trunks, pound into the clearing before you. A dragon, unmistakably. It bows under the final branches blocking its path, but straightens up and shows you its neck once it's free, clearly expecting awe and fear. 

It's... white. 

That's not good. 

"Hey, Kravcakes, how about that rift right about now?" you say as you pull him by the arm, hoping to escape this clearing before it picks you off like the sitting ducks you are. 

"Why?" He resists the tug on his arm. "That's the sickest dog I've ever seen."

Kravitz looks confused, the _dragon_ looks confused, you _are_ confused. 

"I thought dogs were your thing? He's pretty big, but that just means we can't take him through the rift. I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving this sweet boy behind. We gotta bring this dog to the moon." His scythe disappears into the nether as he stops willing it into existence.

It seems like your teammates aren't the only ones failing their perception checks today. 

There's no way this dragon hasn't noticed you by now, but it isn't attacking. Why? Is it gonna ask you to answer three riddles before it'll let you go, or is that just a Sphinx thing? Is it possible to reason with it? 

"Hey, uh-, hel- hello sir? Or ma'am? Dignitary? What can we do to repay you for not hurting us? Thank you so much for that, by the way." You say as you hold your hands above your head in a clear sign of meaning no harm. 

You did not take into account that dragons speak Draconic. When it does respond, it's.... unpleasant. It's not a roar, far from it, but a grating low rumble with what you would tentatively call an inflection at the end. Half fricatives, half choking sounds, and wholly regrettable. 

"Holy shit. Are they alright? Sounds like it's dying, poor thing." And, saying no more, you watch in shocked horror as he runs to the dragon's side. Once in a lifetime opportunity, watching a Grim Reaper die. 

You can't move, can't even speak as Kravitz launches himself at the "dog". To be fair, the dragon doesn't speak either as a 5'8" human prepares to tackle-nuzzle a heavily muscled leg with talons the size of your own forearms. As soon as Kravitz makes contact, however, he realizes his mistake as he is met with smooth interlocking scales and shifting muscles under his hands where he had been hoping for soft fur. He turns slowly to face you, eyes blown wide, as two things become abundantly clear to him, 1) he is hugging a fully-grown dragon and 2) he is a fucking idiot. 

"This dog has scales."

Another once in a lifetime experience, watching a Grim Reaper nearly piss themself in fear. 

A strange, miraculous, stupidly lucky thing happens then. The dragon flops heavily onto its knees as though it were too tired to continue standing in its usual regality and lays its snout facing Kravitz like a lazy compass, full of both intent and contentedness. Its eyes droop and close, but the windows to the soul don't need to be open to read its body language as it lets a sigh fall out of its nostrils. It practically rests in Kravitz's lap, reopening its eyes with an impatient snort before nudging him lightly. Possibly the third most unreasonable thought of the day crosses your mind as you think _hey, maybe it wants to be pet. ___

__Just. Like. A. Dog._ _

__Kravitz gives you the look of a man completely out of his element, a look of someone caught between the chance of serious injury or the chance of serious social faux pa. Most people, you imagine, would probably find the former a less desirable outcome and risk appearing rude as they run from the dragon. Kravitz, however, proves himself to be not so full of talk about not fearing harm as he pushes the palm of his right hand up the hard, smooth surface of the dragon's snout from the no-longer-flared nostrils to the bridge between its eyes. He's shaking, but not so hard as to stop him from doing it again. Around the fourth time he runs his hand up the full length of its face, he looks over his shoulder and jerks his head towards the dragon. You can't quite tell what he's mouthing, but can extrapolate fairly well, you are a people person after all, that it's something akin to "You'd better not let me do this by myself while you stand with your mouth open like a dead fish."_ _

__Adrenaline is not your friend as you engage in the world's most exhilarating funeral procession ever. Jerky feet stutter between half-jogs and full stops as neither fight nor flight wins out. On one hand, this is the coolest thing you've ever done and are, for all intents and purposes, about to pet the world's sickest dog; on the other, you may win a Darwin Award. Your thoughts race by you so fast you honestly can't keep track of them and they melt like cotton candy as your skin meets the excessive warmth of its scales. Warmth. You weren't expecting that, but you also weren't expecting Death to be warm. Maybe you're just cold? It doesn't matter, however, as the dragon lifts its head up just enough to scoot it closer to you, vaguely acknowledging your presence. It's then that you take time to fully bask in the glory of this leviathan. It stands about 30 feet tall, as you predicted, has a little shorter wings than you may have expected, and definitely was not the color you saw it as. It's silver, not white, you can now tell as your nerves stop fraying themselves against your own skull. White is uniformly deadly. Silver is.... thrilling, honestly._ _

__"I can't believe we just adopted a dragon." Kravitz whispers, laughing incredulously._ _

__"Hey, guess what, my dude."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"I know how we're getting to the moon now."_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, this chapter took the absolute piss out of me. Wanted to show a more goofy Kravitz but also a more serious Magnus and doing both at the same time is actual legit Hell. I'm not gonna beg for concrit, but if you have any suggestions (specifically about pacing or characterization) you feel like throwing my way I'd really appreciate it. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this far into a non-shipping AU fic! I wasn't expecting so much of an outpouring for this fic and y'all blow me away :)


	4. This Fic: Now With 100% More Dialogue and Kravitz Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is where I bump up the rating just to be sure. Also, I'm not a sex worker, so if I said anything offensive, please tell me and I will fix it. Would y'all believe me if I said parts of this were written before chapter 2? I really thought it wouldn't take me this long to get here, but here we are regardless. This chapter is mostly character work and less plot, but who's gonna stop me? Like I stated in the chapter title, this is pretty dialogue heavy; unlike what the title states, there's still more Kravitz headcanons to come in the next chapters so buckle up, buckaroos.

Thirty feet tall is a very, very big dog. _Plenty of room for two, but only if the two in question are okay with possible impalement_ , you think to yourself as you observe the arching and rolling of the creature's spine. The scales shift like tectonic plates and boy howdy you'd like to stay out of that fault line. It seems you'll have no choice, though, as the dragon definitely didn't come with a saddle. The dragon shakes itself and paws at the ground and you see one large scale jut into the sky like a beacon. You can't help your eyes widening in fear; it's a pretty sharp dog. 

"So you said you knew how we would get this big boy to the moon." Kravitz says and places a hand on your shoulder. "Would you care to elaborate?" 

"Hey, Krav, my boy, my sweet bro, have you ever ridden bareback?" 

"Like..... like on a horse?" He raises an eyebrow. 

You choke a little on your own tongue before spitting out, "First of all, nice; second of all, yuck. Yanno, I really wanted to believe you were above seventh grade sex jokes, but I guess I should've kept the bar a bit lower for anyone dating Taako." It's... a little bit funny, but a lot a bit gross. 

"Well, actually, I was referring to the likely significant difference between riding a horse and riding a dragon, but you know what? I learned something valuable in your mistake. I learned you are _very_ easily disgusted."

"Only because you're talking about my best friend! I used to be able to laugh at all the gross shit he says, but now I realize he was talking about you this whole time. Thanks. Thanks for retroactively making me unlaugh at about half of all the jokes he's made these last few months." It's mostly jest, but you sure hope this line of conversation ends before you learn something you don't wanna know. 

"Okay, three things here are wrong." He raises up three fingers and taps each one as he makes his points. "One) you brought it up, two) _definitely_ never ridden your friend bareback, three) I don't think the dragon likes it when we ignore him." 

And your new pet certainly doesn't, and makes it known by growling out his assent. It nudges your hand with its head to help you get the picture. It knows you have _two_ hands and that _neither_ of them are petting right now. Maybe it's less like a big dog and more like a big cat? 

"Fair points but also that didn't remove the mental image from my mind so thanks for that, bucko." 

"What? I haven't! That's not a weird thing. It's actually a confirmation of the absence of a slightly 'squint really hard and you'll see it' weird thing." He's.... actually getting kind of defensive. He crosses his arms and levels you a glare. You think maybe, in a completely different context, that glare may have come off as more 'intimidating' and less 'petulant child'. "I'm not gonna stand here and be fucking _vanillashamed_ by a guy who only has scars from battle." 

"But it _is_ weird to _say_ it. Like, out loud! Out loud with your human mouth! I don't wanna know how many STIs my bestie has. I mean, I could probably take a pretty good guess but I don't wanna _know_!" 

"You know..... I actually think he's clean? Not that it matters, though, 'cause I'm kind of dead. More a Typhoid Mary situation to be honest."

You rest your head on the dragon's. It's not soft. You didn't think it would be soft. You just need a place to rest your head and gather yourself a little before telling Kravitz, face still smooshed into your pet's cheek, "So there's an implication there that I feel the need to ask out of curtesy, but also not listen to the answer to, also out of curtesy." 

He, for some reason, gets less defensive? He uncrosses his arms and says, "Oh, its fine. I'm not _ashamed_ of it or anything. It was a job. My primary job was as a bard, which I loved, but it didn't pay very well. So I took up a second job, which..... admittedly also didn't pay very well. So I took up a third job and....." His eyes flicker to the side, as though vividly recalling a painful memory, "Well,..... that job killed me. There's a reason I was chosen to hunt down necromancers, but that's a story I don't care to share right now." 

"There's... quite a lot to unpack there so I'm gonna start with _you were a fucking **bard**_?!" 

"Yeah, it was kind of the best life decision I could have made if I'm being honest with myself. Don't need any practical skills, just a love of music and chaos." He puts his hands on his hips and upturns his face just so, seeming to remember a collection of happy memories this time. "You can see why I like your team now, right? No rules, just getting the job done however you need to and having fun doing it." 

"How did a lute-wielding chaos goblin become an enforcer of the rules of life and death? That just doesn't add up."

"Actually I played the saxophone and it was _massively_ inconvenient. Besides that, I'm mostly allowed to do what I want as well. Do you think I get handed a manila folder that tells me I have to turn into a crystal golem to defeat a bunch of losers? I just spin it off the dome. Keeps it fun, keeps it fresh." 

"We aren't losers! We kicked your ass!" 

"Nope. I distinctly remember that I left because there was freaky hentai shit and cannibalism. I would've won if you three didn't choose to play mind games."

"False. But there's more important matters to address here. Did you or did you not wear pantaloons?" 

He opens and closes his mouth several times before deciding on, "I may have and I may have not but there are no surviving photographs so I guess you'll just never know." 

"Alright, pantaloons: check. Funny hat?" 

"The best damn hat you ever saw are you fucking kidding me it was fantastic." All of which comes out as one phrase with no breaths in between. "There's not a single thing you can do to make me ashamed of my mushroomed beret."

The dragon, hot damn you need to name it, is getting fussy now. It's bucking its head into your torso now to remind you that it could very easily turn on you and win. It's nostrils flare as it pounds the ground like packing in flour. 

"Alright, alright. I think our buddy needs to get a move on." Kravitz points out. 

"You're not getting out of this questioning so easily, Mr. Sexaphone-"

"-Call me that again and I'm calling the Fantasy cops."

"But I think order of business goes to giving our big boy a name." You pet it's side affectionately. 

"You can drill me on the way there.", he says without giving you so much as a glance, instead focusing on the big baby in front of you both. "And how do we know it's a boy? We keep saying that but I don't think dragons really have genders in the way people do." 

"Gender neutral names then. Any ideas?" 

He's quite for a beat, contemplative. "Ragnarok?"

"No." 

"Why? It's sick as a Fantasy Dixie Chick." 

"Cause I don't know what it means."

"Oh! Well it's the-" 

"I don't care.", you cut him off. "What about Maggie? Think of the chaos. Embrace your wild side, bardboy." 

"I think the fuck not. Why your name? That's not fair." He honest to Istus pouts. 

"Fine. Sideburns? Get it? Cause it burns?" 

"This is a silver dragon, it's cold type. That's also literally just your last name. If we wanna keep with the fire theme we could go for something like, uh, Hot.... pocket? Hot pocket?" 

"Fanfuckingtastic. It's both ironic and yummy." You pat Hot Pocket's side. "How you like that one, buddy?" 

Either Hot Pocket has a wonderfully stupid sense of humor, or it straight up doesn't know what a hot pocket is; either way, it bellows out it's approval. _Silly as this whole thing may be, it's also sick as dick_ , you remind yourself. A plume of fog erupts from it's maw in triumph. Even you, with your mostly-inert nerves and icey corpse flesh, can feel the world around you shed a few degrees. The low cloud dusts the ground foot-adjacent and turns blades of grass into blades of a much more painful sort. You yet again contemplate how lucky you are that this thing isn't looking to harm you, because if its happy breath is any indicator, you don't want to know what its _other_ breath feels like. 

You also call yourself lucky because Merle is gonna shit himself when he sees this thing. 

"So, uh, you up to riding this majestic creature-", you pause to think up a less controversial word, "minus saddle?" 

"You said this mission was pretty urgent, so if we wanna take Hot Pocket with us- and it's way too late to back out now- we better get a move on. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"It could definitely tear us a new one. I'm not saying we shouldn't jump on in, planning is the confidence killer and all, just getting that out there.", you say with your back turned. Hot Pocket may be on its knees, but you still have to grapple for handholds on its even-patterned side. Slippery lil' thing. 

"Fair point, but what's the real problem with a few more holes?" His inflection plants a frown on your face; he had better not have- You whip your eyes over your shoulder and see a unabashed smirk. Okay, so he did. 

You try to admonish him but it probably doesn't come across too seriously given that your voice shakes with the effort of suppressing a laugh. "Holy _shit_ , dude. That one was the actual, true worst. Really gross, and totally on purpose this time."

"Ah, so absurdist jokes are also off the table, I see."

"Nah, man. That one was.... really good. I think I like joking around with you."

"Okay, thanks? Um, I think it's about time we head off now. So if we could find some way to-" 

"I think we're becoming closer as friends." You beam a smile at him over your shoulder. You've gotten pretty high on up Hot Pocket, all without mincing your hand too much on the sharp edges. 

"Okay, uh, thanks again. You're... a good guy? Anyway, once you get on up there, could you get Pocket to spread its wings? I think it'll be easier to ramp up that way." 

That.... makes a whole lot of sense. "What's your animal handling rank? You're talking sense, small guy." 

"Pretty good, last time I checked. I used to own some dogs so-" 

"-What kind?!" 

"Um, big? White, long snouts. Loved them a whole lot." 

"Did they look like ghost horses?" This is the best thing you've had happen to you all day, but the bar is admittedly pretty low. 

"Yes! Taller than me when they're stretched up."

" _Siiiiiick._ "

"Yeah, they were really sweet. Too fast, though. Always jerking me around on walks."

"So _maybe_ I have better animal handling than you."

"I'll give it a whirl first while you're getting down." He grabs the wing and just sorta... pulls it out? Pocket relents easily and allows itself to be manhandled with care. When he's done, Krav wordlessly throws his hands up like he won the World Cup. Boy, you feel kinda stupid. You slip down anyway, definitely slicing open your one hand. You're a big boy, though, and you don't cry about it. 

Kravitz is already mostly situated when you maneuver your way in behind him, it's not quite as bad as it looked at first but you are bumper to bumper with him, which is a little awkward but like hell you're going to mention it. The worst part, though, is that he's in front. He's conjured in a rope (is that a cantrip or was he low-balling how many slots he has left?) that he's boy scouted around Hot Pocket just so, leaving breathing room for your good good pet. 

You reach around his waist to hold the rope. "Hey, mind if I drive?"

"I mean, yes. You're a recent amputee and I don't think you should be steering just yet."

You pout. "I have vehicle proficiency, though." 

"Sick shit, Mags, but dragons aren't vehicles." He says, trying and failing to sound bored, as he tugs up on the reigns. "Yeehaw, bitch."

Hot Pocket exhales yet another cloud of fog and its powerful hind legs crouch down as if charging a mighty upward thrust. You remember just a tad too late that Pocket's wings are a bit on the nubby side as it pounces onto the solid cloud it made, exhaling another platform. And again. And again. And again. 

At some point, there's a lot of screaming and peals of hysterical, disbelieving laughter. With your view from the back, you don't know if Kravitz is making these sounds. Maybe both of you?

Almost definitely both of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to relisten to a lot of Magnus speaking to get his voice even close. Murder on the Rockport Limited is a real great arc for character tonality because the characters just talk to NPCs for hours. Not so good for Taako, however, because Justin was still feeling his boy out and seeing what he's made of. This is all a long way of saying Magnus is hard and Magnus dialogue is also hard. 
> 
> Yet again, y'all bowl me over every time with how sweet you are! Thanks to every commenter, your input is very important not only to my ego, but also to keep me on track :)


	5. This Fic: Now With Updates and Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that writing about an event that hasn't happened yet in canon sometimes ruins what you had planned for said writing. Who coulda known? Can I just say, though, that I just checked the Kravitz&Magnus tag and I used to be the only fic in there for months and now it's got content!!! People finally learned that they would be very good best friends! I'm on the verge of tears I'm so happy. We did it, we climbed this whole mountain you guys :)

When you make it there, it's too late. 

A joke from Kravitz falls upon deaf ears, you watch it drop from his lips but can't hear any of it. You can't hear anything in this moment, actually. Kravitz's head is swiveled around to face you, a dangerous flight maneuver to say the least, flushed and beaming with laughter over a joke about.... what were you talking about again? It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. If you don't do something immediately, you won't matter either. 

Behind Kravitz's head you see it. It's here. It's the end of the world, again. 

________**********_________

Maybe it was a little bit early to say you "made it". A column of Hunger near about drills its way through you, instead crashing and splattering on a circle of black glass below. Was that once Phandalin? There were so many Phandalins, in retrospect, all of them your collective fault. You thought that if you scattered the Light, it couldn't find you. What did you do wrong? 

"Serpentine!" Kravitz cries out as another, thinner, faster bolt of Hunger tries its best to strike you out of the air. He's pulling up on the reigns so hard he may very well strangle the poor thing. 

Huh. Remember when you thought that Hot Pocket was like a dog, then a cat? Maybe it's most like a horse. A very skittish, very upset horse. Instead of its usual song and dance of creating a cloud and hopping on it, it starts flapping its runt wings, helplessly, uselessly. You spiral. 

"Ease off on the reigns, Krav!" you yell out over the roar of the apocalypse. 

"And let us fall?! Are you nuts?"

"You're choking it!" 

Kravitz actually listens to you, it seems, as he jerks his head around to face you. Then you gag. His entire face falls clean off, like a tarantula molting in 300x speed. His skin evaporates before it hits the ground, leaving a pearly white skeleton behind. 

"Hold onto what's left of me, would ya?" You don't need to be told twice, and immediately cling to his chest, chin over his shoulder. Or, at least, until he drops the reigns in favor of slamming his newly-impenetrable body into Hot Pocket's spiny neck. 

"You maaaay also want to close your eyes for this part."

You do. 

_______********_______

Hot Pocket jolts as it's knocked unsteady. You scream as the impact rolls through you. Then you open your eyes, and stop screaming. You haven't been thrown off course, and are in fact on steady dragon feet on steady person ground, the kind that flesh people and skeleton people alike can touch down on without falling and dying. You laugh. It's been such a long day. Kravitz is not laughing at his own magic trick, however, and you realize as you survey the scene that, hey, maybe it was a bit early to stop screaming. 

Someone behind you has the right idea about screaming, though. Somewhere behind you, an older man is shrieking like if he gives up his vocal cords he could exchange it for his life. Wait, you know that older man. You whip your head back around so fast that if you weren't already dead you'd be worried about flinging your vocal chords straight out of its throat casing, and, yep, its your old man. 

"Don't you owe me five gold now?" Kravitz says to you in certainly the calmest voice out of all the surrounding shrieks of pure terror. 

"Naw, man. He loves it. Look, Merle thinks it's so cool. He's screaming like he's at a rock concert." 

"Merle is going to pass out."

"No, no. He loves it." You turn your voice to Merle, "Hey, Merle! Are you gonna pass out? If not, how cool is this? On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being-"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, YOU FUCK!" 

"...... Somewhat?" You console as you dismount Hot Pocket, tearing your cargo shorts on the way back down. Merle is not consoled by your attempt. 

He is, however consoled by your picking him up and tossing him gently up to shoulder level. 

"I'm sorry for not telling you that I'm okay sooner. I was in Hell, and also not okay." you whisper into his tiny baby ear. Merle gets readjusted to face Kravitz and you tell him, "This is my new friend, Bard Pantaloons. He cut off your arm." Kravitz does not seem to enjoy your introduction. 

"Hello, Merle. We've met. I wish under better circumstances. I, uh, regret the arm thing and hope we can work together despite it." He gives his best smile he can while being utterly, miserably uncomfortable. 

"It's fine, man. Magnus here," he pauses to pat your bicep, "was the one who cut it off anyway."

"To save your fucking life! When will you chill up on it?" You set him back down, a little rougher than you would have if he hadn't been an ungrateful jackass just now. 

"Once I get my arm back, then I will 'chill up on it'." 

"Maybe," another voice chimes in, "he'd understand the concept of doing things to save people's lives if he had some hands-on experience. Whaddya think, old man?" 

"Merle? Learning how to do his job?" a more feminine voice adds conversationally, "We'd have to change our whole battle strategy if there was suddenly a back-up plan for death. Bit late to add that in, isn't it?"

You don't have to think twice before hauling Taako's 7 foot ass up into the sky. He yells something indistinct as you do so, but, for all his insulted posturing, doesn't try to escape. When you do let him down, he gives you a weird half-smile, like his face wasn't meant to twist that way, and fucks off to see Kravitz, who he _willingly_ embraces and.... Yeah, you turn to face Lup instead. She learns from her brother's mistake, however, and floats further up, not even giving you the _opportunity_ to crush her ghost spine. It's not fair.

"You're here now?" you say, craning your neck up to look at her.

"Yeah. Decided to drop on by. Thought you could use me. Saved everyone's asses. The usual." She blows on her lich nails.

"That... doesn't explain anything at all. Thanks."

"Now's not quite the time. You can, however, take the time to love and appreciate me."

"Not enough time in the world, hun." You give her a smile, which she quickly matches. She glows in a way not completely because of her phantasmal form.

"What happened to your body by the way? You look like shit." she says as if it weren't an insult but merely a comment on the weather.

"Well, if I look like I'm dead, it's because I am. I'm standing up with both feet in the grave and the only reason I'm not six feet under is because I'm six foot four."

"That doesn't explain anything at all. Thanks."

"If we live, I'll have time to tell you about being stuck in Hell-"

"-And I'll have time to tell you about being stuck in an umbrella."

"Yup. Exactly. Looking forward to it."

You look back at her brother, hoping to reconnect with everyone as quickly as possible before you get down to business. You regret it. What the whole fresh fuck, Taako? Kravitz doesn't even have skin back on yet. That's just gross and you _are_ kinkshaming. You can overhear terse goodbyes being said before a farewell "please don't stop existing I want to see you again" kiss is exchanged. You don't see where Kravitz goes, but you sure hope to see him again, even if he's being gross with your best friend.

"Youngins, amiright Merlman?" You have to stoop down pretty far to elbow him in the ribs but you do so anyway. You are immediately very glad you stooped down to do so, as an errant Ray of Frost flies overhead.

"I'm so sorry, sir! That could've very easily hurt you and your very nice dragon and I really don't mean to do that! I love you!" It's Angus McDonald, light of your life and most frustrating person in it. You spin around to see what he was casting at, and kind of wish you hadn't. 

Ah, that's what you needed to be screaming about. Huh.

Hot Pocket reels back in horror and lets out a terrified screech. Well, you can't complain about its cowardice because if it were a fighter type it would've killed you very good back there. Two... masses loom over you; one taking the form of a firbolg, 10 feet tall near as you can tell and at least half as wide, and one that didn't take much of a form at all; a wall of particulate, speckled in the colors of reds and greens and all the hues of the Hunger catching on the light (much unlike the vantablack of the rest of its mass, which doesn't refract any light at all as if it were a part of reality that someone forgot to color in) streaming through the forcefully-opened glass ceiling. Luckily, instead of hitting you, Angus's ray froze one of the firbolg's legs; it stumbles forward like a kid with a cast trying to walk to school. The other one, the particulate, advances on you without legs, sliding forward like a crushing wall in an Indiana Jones movie. Taako stands as at-attention as he ever does, Merle falling in line next to him, Lup taking an aerial vantage point, and Angus stepping into rank beside you with as much confidence as an 11-year-old facing death can. You pull out your axe.

Let's roll initiative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, you'll see Kravitz again. He's the second main character in this fic and he's coming back now y'all. Also, a more complete IPRE reunion is on it's way but it just seemed like too much for one chapter because soooo much shit happened. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope this works for you. I wrote this in one go before bed time so if there's an issue, keep it to yourself :)
> 
> (kidding, tell me everything you notice in this fic. I love comments just like every other fic writer out there)


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